“I’m confused …

From what I’ve heard,” Grace went on, “Cole was the workaholic, Dex, the playboy. Aren’t you supposed to be the Hunter brother with a conscience?”

“I grew up,” Wynn replied.

“Hardened up.”

“And yet you’re captivated by my charm.”

Her lips twitched. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“So I dreamed that you came home with me three nights ago?”

“I was feeling self-indulgent. Guess we connected.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, we still do.”

“I can’t regret the other night.” She let out a breath. “But, I’m not interested in pursuing anything … rekindling any flames. It’s not a good time.”

Wynn felt his smile waver before firming back up. “I don’t recall asking.”

“So, that hand sliding toward my behind, pressing me against you … I kind of took that as a hint.”

* * *

One Night, Second Chance is part of The Hunter Pact series: One powerful family, countless dark secrets

One Night,

Second Chance

Robyn Grady

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ROBYN GRADY was first contracted by Mills & Boon in 2006. Her books feature regularly on bestsellers lists and at award ceremonies, including the National Readers’ Choice Awards, the Booksellers’ Best Awards, CataRomance Reviewers’ Choice Awards and Australia’s prestigious Romantic Book of the Year.

Robyn lives on Australia’s gorgeous Sunshine Coast where she met and married her real-life hero. When she’s not tapping out her next story, she enjoys the challenges of raising three very different daughters, going to the theater, reading on the beach and dreaming about bumping into Stephen King during a month-long Mediterranean cruise.

Robyn knows that writing romance is the best job on the planet and she loves to hear from her readers! You can keep up with news on her latest releases at www.robyngrady.com.

This book is dedicated to Holly Brooke.

I’m so very proud of you, baby. Aim for the stars!

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Excerpt

Prologue

Turning her back on the wall-to-wall mirror, Grace Munroe unzipped and stepped out of her dress. She slipped off her heels—matching bra and briefs, too—before wrapping herself in a soft, scented towel. But when she reached the bathroom door, a chill rippled through her, pulling her up with a start.

She sucked down a breath—tried to get enough air.

I’m an adult. I want this.

So relax.

Let it go.

A moment later, she entered a room that was awash with the glow from a tall corner lamp. She crossed to the bed, drew back the covers and let the towel drop to her feet. She was slipping between the sheets when a silhouette filled the doorway and a different sensation took hold. She hadn’t been in this kind of situation before—and never would be again. But right now, how she wanted this.

How she wanted him.

Moving forward, he shucked off his shirt, undid his belt. When he curled over her, the tip of his tongue rimmed one nipple and her senses flew into a spin.

His stubble grazed her as he murmured, “I’d like to know your name.”

She didn’t wince—only smiled.

“And I’d like us under this sheet.”

This evening had begun with a walk to clear her thoughts; since returning to New York, she’d been plagued by memories and regrets.

Passing a piano bar, she was drawn by the strains of a baby grand and wandered in to take a seat. A man stopped beside her. Distinctly handsome, he filled out his tailored jacket in a way that turned women’s heads. Still, Grace was ready to flick him off. She hadn’t wanted company tonight.

To her surprise, he only shared an interesting detail about the tune being played before sipping his drink and moving on. But something curious about his smile left its mark on her. She felt a shift beneath her ribs—a pleasant tug—and her thinking did a one-eighty.

Calling him back, she asked if he’d like to join her. Ten minutes. She wasn’t staying long. Slanting his head, he began to introduce himself, but quickly she held up a hand; if it was all the same to him, she’d rather not get into each other’s stories. Each other’s lives. She saw a faint line form between his brows before he agreed with a salute of his glass.

For twenty minutes or so, they each lost themselves in the piano man’s music. At the end of the break, when she roused herself and bid him good-night, her stranger said he ought to leave, too. It seemed natural for them to walk together, discussing songs and sports, and then food and the theater. He was so easy to talk to and laugh with...There was almost something familiar about his smile, his voice. Then they were passing his building and, as if they’d known each other for years, he asked if she’d like to come up. Grace didn’t feel obliged. Nor did she feel uncertain.

Now, in this bedroom with his mouth finding hers, she wasn’t sorry, either. But this experience was so far from her norm. Was it progress or simply escape?

A year ago, she’d been in a relationship. Sam was a decorated firefighter who respected his parents—valued the community. Nothing was too much for his family or friends. He had loved her deeply and, one night, had proposed. Twelve months on, a big part of Grace still felt stuck in that time.

But not right now. Not one bit.

As her stranger’s tongue pushed past her lips, the slow-working rhythm fed a hunger that stretched and yawned up inside of her. When he broke the kiss, rather than wane, the steady beating at her core only grew. She was attracted to this man in a way she couldn’t explain—physically, intellectually...and on a different level, too. She would have liked to see him again. Unfortunately, that wasn’t possible. This was all about impulse, sexual attraction—a fusion of combustible forces.

A one-night stand.

And that’s how it needed to stay.

One

“Beautiful, isn’t she?”

Wynn Hunter gave the older man standing beside him a wry grin. “Hate to tell you, but that bridesmaid’s a little young for you.”

“I would hope so.” Brock Munroe’s proud shoulders shucked back. “She’s my daughter.”

Wynn froze; his scalp tingled. Then he remembered to breathe. As his mind wheeled to fit all the pieces together, he swallowed and then pushed out the words. Brock had three daughters. Now it struck Wynn which one this was.

“That’s Grace?”

“All grown up.”

Brock didn’t need to know just how grown up.

Had Wynn suspected the connection three nights ago, he would never have taken her back to his Upper East Side apartment—not so much out of respect for Brock, who was a friend of his father, Australian media mogul and head of Hunter Enterprises Guthrie Hunter, but because Wynn had despised Grace Munroe when they were kids. She’d made his blood boil. His teeth grind.

How could he have enjoyed the single best evening of sex in his life with that girl–er, woman?

“Grace gets her looks from her mother, like the other two,” Brock went on as music and slow-spinning lights drifted around the Park Avenue ballroom, which was decked out for tonight’s wedding reception. “Remember the vacation we all spent together? That Colorado Christmas sure was a special one.”

Brock had met Guthrie as a Sydney University graduate vacationing at the newly opened Vail Resort. Over the years, they’d kept in touch. When the Munroes and Hunters had got together two decades later, Wynn had turned eight. Whenever he and his older brothers had built a snowman outside of the chalet the two families had shared, Grace and Wynn’s younger sister Teagan had conspired to demolish it. Back then, Wynn’s angel of a mother had still been alive. She’d explained that the six-year-olds had simply wanted to join in. Be included.

Now Wynn ran Hunter Publishing, the New York-based branch of Hunter Enterprises. Until recently, he had always prided himself on being an affable type. But that Christmas day, when Grace had tripped him up then doubled over with laughter as his forehead had smacked the snow—and the rock hidden underneath—he’d snapped. While she’d scurried inside, pigtails flying, Wynn’s brother Cole had struggled to hold him back.

So many years had passed since then and yet, in all his life, Wynn doubted anyone had riled him more than that pug-nosed little brat.

But since then, her mousey pigtails had transformed into a shimmering wheat-gold fall. And her lolly-legs in kiddies’ jeans had matured into smooth, endless limbs. He recalled that pest from long ago who had relentlessly poked and teased, and then remembered his mouth working over hers that amazing night they’d made love. When they’d struck up a conversation at that Upper East Side piano bar, Grace couldn’t possibly have known who he was.

Could she?

“How’s your father and that situation back in Australia?” Brock asked as Grace continued to dance with her partnered groomsman and other couples filled the floor. “We spoke a couple of months back. All that business about someone trying to kill him? Unbelievable.” Brock crossed his tuxedo-clad arms and shook his head. “Are the authorities any closer to tracking down the lowlife responsible?”

With half an eye on Grace’s hypnotic behind as she swayed around in that sexy red cocktail number, Wynn relayed some details.

“A couple of weeks after my father’s vehicle was run off the road, someone tried to shoot him. Thankfully the gunman missed. When Dad’s bodyguard chased him on foot, the guy ran out in front of a car. Didn’t survive.”

“But wasn’t there another incident not long after that?”

“My father was assaulted again, yes.” Remembering the phone call he’d received from a livid Cole, Wynn’s chest tightened. “The police are on the case but my brother also hired a P.I. friend to help.”

Brandon Powell and Cole went back to navy-cadet days. Now Brandon spent his time cruising around Sydney on a Harley and running his private-investigation and security agency. He was instinctive, thorough and, everyone agreed, the right man for the job.

As one song segued into another, the music tempo increased and the lights dimmed more. On the dance floor, Grace Munroe was limbering up. Her moves weren’t provocative in the strictest sense of the word. Still, the way she arranged her arms and bumped those hips... Well, hell, she stood out. And Wynn saw that he wasn’t alone in that impression; her first dance partner had been replaced by a guy who could barely keep his hands to himself.

Wynn downed the rest of his drink.

Wynn didn’t think Grace had noticed him yet among the three hundred guests. Now that he was aware of their shared background, there was less than no reason to hang around until she did. It was way too uncomfortable.

Wynn gestured toward the exit and made his excuse to Brock “Better get going. Early meeting tomorrow.”

The older man sucked his cheeks in. “On a Sunday? Then again, you must be run off your feet since Hunter Publishing acquired La Trobes two years ago. Huge distribution.”

Brock was being kind. “We’ve also shut down four publications in as many years.” As well as reducing leases on foreign and national bureaus.

“These are difficult times.” Brock grunted. “Adapt or die. God knows, advertising’s in the toilet, too.”

Brock was the founding chairman of Munroe Select Advertising, a company with offices in Florida, California and New York. Whether members of the Munroe family helped run the firm, Wynn couldn’t say. The night he and Grace had got together, they hadn’t exchanged personal information...no phone numbers, employment details. Obviously no names. Now curiosity niggled and Wynn asked.

“Does Grace work for your company?”

“I’ll let her tell you. She’s on her way over.”

Wynn’s attention shot back to the floor. When Grace recognized him, her smile vanished. But she didn’t turn tail and run. Instead, she carefully pressed back her bare shoulders and, tacking up a grin, continued over, weaving her way through the partying crowd.

A moment later, she placed a dainty hand on Brock’s sleeve and craned to brush a kiss on his cheek. Then she turned her attention toward Wynn. With her head at an angle, her wheat-gold hair cascaded to one side. Wynn recalled the feel of that hair beneath his fingers. The firm slide of his skin over hers.

“I see you’ve found a friend,” she said loud enough to be heard over the music.

Brock gave a cryptic smile. “You’ve met before.”

Her focus on Wynn now, Grace’s let’s-keep-a-secret mask held up. “Really?”

“This is Wynn,” her father said. “Guthrie Hunter’s third boy.”

Her entrancing eyes—a similar hue to her hair—blinked twice.

“Wynn?” she croaked. “Wynn Hunter?”

“We were reminiscing,” Brock said, setting his empty champagne flute on a passing waiter’s tray. “Remembering the time we all spent Christmas together in Colorado.”

“That was a long time ago.” Gathering herself, Grace pegged out one shapely leg and arched a teasing brow. “I don’t suppose you build snowmen anymore?”

Wynn deadpanned. “Way too dangerous.”

“Dangerous...” Her puzzled look cleared up after a moment. “Oh, I remember. You were out in the yard with your brothers that Christmas morning. You hit your head.”

He rubbed the ridge near his temple. “Never did thank you for the scar.”

“Why would you do that?”

Seriously?

“You tripped me.”

“The way I recall it, you fell over your laces. You were always doing that.”

When Wynn opened his mouth to disagree—six-year-old Grace had stuck out her boot, plain and simple—Brock stepped in.

“Grace has been friends with the bride since grade school,” the older man offered.

“Jason and I were at university together in Sydney,” Wynn replied, still wanting to set straight that other point.

“Linley and Jason have been a couple for three years,” Grace said. “I’ve never heard either one mention you.”

“We lost touch.” Wynn added, “I didn’t expect an invitation.”

“Seems the world is full of surprises.”

While Wynn held Grace’s wry look, Brock picked up a less complicated thread.

“Wynn runs the print arm of Hunter Enterprises here in New York now.” He asked Wynn, “Is Cole still in charge of your broadcasting wing in Australia?”

Wynn nodded. “Although he stepped back a bit. He’s getting married.”

“Cole was always so committed to the company. A workaholic, like his dad.” Brock chuckled fondly. “Glad he’s settling down. Just goes to show—there’s someone for everyone.”

It seemed that before he could catch himself, Brock slid a hesitant look his daughter’s way. Grace’s gaze immediately dropped. He made a point of evaluating the room before sending a friendly salute over to a circle of friends nearby.

“I see the Dilshans. Should go catch up.” Brock kissed his daughter’s cheek. “I’ll leave you two to get reacquainted.”

As Brock left, Wynn decided to let them both off the hook. As much as this meeting was awkward, their interactions three nights ago had felt remarkably right. Details of that time had also been private and, as far as he was concerned, would remain that way.

“Don’t worry,” he said, tipping a fraction closer. “I won’t let on that you and I were already reintroduced.”

She looked amused. “I didn’t think you’d blurt out the fact that we picked each other up at a bar.”

She really didn’t pull any punches.

“Still don’t want to get into each other’s stories?” he asked.

“As it turns out, we already know each other, remember?”

“I didn’t mean twenty years ago. I’m talking about now.”

Her grin froze before she lifted her chin and replied. “Probably best that we don’t.”

He remembered her father’s comment about there being a person for everyone and Grace’s reaction. He recalled how she’d wanted to keep their conversation superficial that night. His bet? Grace Munroe had secrets.

None of his business. Hell, he had enough crap of his own going down in his life. Still, before they parted again, he was determined to clear something up.

“Tell me one thing,” he said. “Did you have any idea who I was that night?”

She laughed. “There, see? You do have a sense of humor.”

As she turned away, he reached and caught her wrist. An electric bolt shot up his arm as her hair flared out and her focus snapped back around. She almost looked frightened. Not his intention at all.

“Dance with me,” he said.

Those honeyed eyes widened before she tilted her chin again. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t want the chance to trip me up again?”

She grinned. “Admit it. You were a clumsy kid.”

“You were a brat.”

“Be careful.” She eyed the fingers circling her wrist. “You’ll catch girl germs.”

“I’m immune.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“Trust me. I’m sure.”

He shepherded her toward the dance floor. A moment later, when he took her in his arms, Wynn had to admit that though he’d never liked little Gracie Munroe, he sure approved of the way this older version fit so well against him. Surrounded by other couples, he studied her exquisite but indolent face before pressing his palm firmly against the small of her back.

Dancing her around in a tight, intimate circle, he asked, “How you holding up?”

“Not nauseous...yet.”

“No driving desire to curl your ankle around the back of mine and push?”

“I’ll keep you informed.”

He surrendered a grin. He just bet she would.

“Where’s your mother tonight?”

Her cheeky smile faded. “Staying with my grandmother. She hasn’t been well.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

“Pining. My grandfather passed away not long ago. He was Nan’s rock.” Her look softened more. “I remember my parents going to your mother’s funeral a few years back.”

His stomach gave a kick. Even now, memories of his father failing due to lack of sleep from his immeasurable loss left a lump in Wynn’s throat the size of an egg. The word saint had been tailor-made for his mom. She would never be forgotten. Would always be missed.

But life had gone on.

“My father married again.”

She nodded, and he remembered her parents had attended the wedding. “Is he happy?”

“I suppose.”

A frown pinched her brow as she searched his eyes. “You’re not convinced.”

“My stepmother was one of my mother’s best friend’s daughters.”

“Wow. Sounds complicated.”

That was one way to put it.

Cole and Dex, Guthrie’s second-oldest son, had labeled their father’s second wife a gold digger, and worse. Wynn’s motto had always been Right Is Right. But not everything about Eloise Hunter was black or white. Eloise was, after all, his youngest brother Tate’s mom. With his father’s stalker still on the loose, little Tate didn’t need one ounce more trouble in his life, particularly not nasty gossip concerning one of his parents running around.

Out of all his siblings, Wynn loved Tate the best. There was a time when he’d imagined having a kid just like him one day.

Not anymore.

Wynn felt a tap on his shoulder. A shorter man stood waiting, straightening his bow tie, wearing a stupid grin.

“Mind if I cut in?” the man asked.

Wynn gave a curt smile. “Yeah, I do.”

With pinpricks of light falling over the dance floor in slow motion, Grace tsked as he moved them along. “That wasn’t polite.”

Wynn only smiled.

“He’s a friend,” she explained.

What could he say? Too bad.

She looked at him more closely. “I’m confused. From what I’ve heard, Cole was the workaholic, Dex, the playboy. Aren’t you supposed to be the Hunter brother with a conscience?”

“I grew up.”

“Hardened up.”

“And yet you’re captivated by my charm.”

Her lips twitched. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“So I dreamed that you came home with me three nights ago?”

She didn’t blush. Not even close.

“I was feeling self-indulgent. Guess we connected.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” his head angled closer, “we still do.”

Her hand on his shoulder tightened even as she averted her gaze. “I’ve never been in that kind of situation before.”

He admitted, “Neither have I.”

“I can’t regret the other night.” She let out a breath. “But, I’m not interested in pursuing anything...rekindling any flames. It’s not a good time.”

He felt his smile waver before firming back up.

“I don’t recall asking.”

“So, that hand sliding toward my behind, pressing me in against the ridge in your pants... I kind of took that as a hint.” Her smile was thin. “I’m not after a relationship, Wynn. Not right now. Not of any kind.”

He’d asked her to dance to prove, well, something. Now he wasn’t sure what. Three nights ago, he’d been attracted by her looks. Intrigued by her wit. Drawn by her touch. Frankly, she was right. The way he felt this minute wasn’t a whole lot different from that.

However, Grace Munroe had made her wishes known. On a less primal level, he agreed. At the edge of the dance floor, he released her and stepped away.

“I’ll let you get back to your party.”

A look—was it respect?—faded up in her eyes. “Say hi to Teagan and your brothers for me.”

“Will do.”

Although these days the siblings rarely saw each other. But Cole was set to tie the knot soon with Australian television producer Taryn Quinn, which meant a family gathering complete with wily stepmother, stalked father and, inevitably, questions surrounding the altered state of Wynn’s own personal life.

Until recently, he—not Cole or Dex—had been the brother destined for marriage. Of course, that was before the former love of his life, Heather Matthews, had informed the world that actually, she’d made other plans. When the bomb had hit, he’d slogged through the devastated stage, the angry phase. Now, he was comfortable just cruising along. So comfortable, in fact, he had no desire to ever lay open his heart to anyone again for any reason, sexy Grace Munroe included.

Wynn found the bride and groom, did the right thing and wished them nothing but happiness. On his way out of the room, which was thumping with music now, he bumped into Brock again. Wynn had a feeling it wasn’t by accident.

“I see you shared a dance with my daughter,” Brock said.

“For old time’s sake.”

“She might have told you...Grace left New York twelve months ago. She’s staying on in Manhattan for a few days, getting together with friends.” He mentioned the name of the prestigious hotel. “If you wanted to call in, see how she’s doing... Well, I’d appreciate it. Might help keep some bad memories at bay.” Brock lowered his voice. “She lost someone close to her recently.”

“She mentioned her grandfather—”

“This was a person around her age.” The older man’s mouth twisted. “He was a firefighter. A good man. They were set to announce their engagement before the accident.”

The floor tilted beneath Wynn’s feet. Concentrating, he rubbed his temple—that scar.

“Grace was engaged?”

“As good as. The accident happened a year ago last week here in New York.”

Wynn had believed Grace when she’d said that their night was a one-off—that she’d never gone home with a man before on a whim. Now the pieces fit. On that unfortunate anniversary, Grace had drowned out those memories by losing herself in Wynn’s company. He wasn’t upset by her actions; he understood them better than most. Hadn’t he found solace—oblivion—in someone else’s arms, too?

“She puts on a brave face.” Brock threw a weary glance around the room. “But being here at one of her best friends’ weddings, in front of so many others who know... She should have been married herself by now.” Brock squared his heavy shoulders. “No one likes to be pitied. No one wants to be alone.”

Brock wished Wynn the best with his make-believe meeting in the morning. Wynn was almost at the door when the music stopped and the DJ announced, “Calling all eligible ladies. Gather round. The bride is ready to throw her bouquet!”

Wynn cast a final glance back. He was interested to see that Grace hadn’t positioned herself for the toss; she stood apart and well back from the rest.

A drumroll echoed out through the sound system. In her fluffy white gown, the beaming bride spun around. With an arm that belonged in the majors, she lobbed the weighty bunch well over her head. A collective gasp went up as the bouquet hurtled through the air, high over the outstretched arms of the nearest hopefuls. Over outliers’ arms, as well. It kept flying and flying.

Straight toward Grace.

As the bouquet dropped from the ceiling, Grace realized at the last moment that she was in the direct line of fire. Rather than catch it, however, she stepped aside and petals smacked the polished floor near her feet. Then, as if wrenched by an invisible cord, the bouquet continued to slide. It stopped dead an inch from Wynn’s shoes. The room stilled before all eyes shot from the flowers to Grace.

The romantically minded might have seen this curious event as an omen. Might have thought that the trajectory of the bouquet as it slid along the floor from Grace to Wynn meant they ought to get together. Only most guests here would know. Grace didn’t want a fiancé.

She was still grieving the one she had lost.

As he and Grace stared at each other, anticipation vibrated off the walls and Wynn felt a stubborn something creak deep inside him. An awareness that had lain frozen and unfeeling these past months thawed a degree, and then a single icicle snapped and fell away from his soul.

Hunkering down, he collected the flowers. With their audience hushed and waiting, he headed back to Grace.

When he stopped less than an arm’s distance away, he inspected the flowers—red and white roses with iridescent fern in between. But he didn’t hand over the bouquet. Rather, he circled his arm around Grace’s back and, in front of the spellbound crowd, slowly—deliberately—lowered his head over hers.

Two

As he drew her near, two things flashed through Grace’s mind.

What in God’s name is Wynn Hunter doing?

The other thought evaporated into a deep, drugging haze when the remembered heat of his mouth captured hers. At the same instant her limbs turned to rubber, her fingertips automatically wound into his lapels. Her toes curled and her core contracted, squeezing around a kernel of mindless want.

This man’s kiss was spun from dreams. The hot, strong feel of him, the taste...his scent...

From the time she’d left his suite that night, she had wondered. The hours she’d spent in his bed had seemed so magical, perhaps she’d only dreamed them up. But this moment was real, and now she only wanted to experience it all again—his lips drifting over her breasts, his hands stroking, hips rocking.

When his lips gradually left hers, the burning feel of him remained. With her eyes closed, she focused on the hard press of his chest against her bodice...her need to have him kiss her again. Then, from the depths of her kiss-induced fog, Grace heard a collective sigh go up in the room. With her head still whirling, she dragged open heavy eyes. Wynn’s face was slanted over hers. He was smiling softly.

In a matter of seconds, he had made her forget about everything other than this. But the encounter three nights ago had been a mutually agreed upon, ultraprivate affair. This scene had been played out in front of an audience. Friends, and friends of friends, who knew what had happened last year.

Or thought that they knew.

Grace kept her unsteady voice hushed. “What are you doing?”

“Saying goodbye properly.” With his arm still a strong band around her, he took a step back. “Are you all right to stand?”

She shook off more of her stupor. “Of course I can stand.” But as she moved to disengage herself, she almost teetered.

With a knowing grin, he handed over the bouquet, which she mechanically accepted at the same time the DJ’s voice boomed through the speakers.

“How about that, folks! What do you say? Is that our next bride-to-be?”

The applause was hesitant at first before the show of support went through the roof. Grace cringed at the attention. On another level, it also gave a measure of relief. Anything—including a huge misunderstanding—was better than the sea of pitying faces she’d had to endure that day.

“If you want,” Wynn murmured, “I can stay longer.”

With her free hand, she smoothed down her skirt—and gathered the rest of her wits. “I’m sure you’ve done enough.”

His gaze filtered over her face, lingering on her lips, still moist and buzzing from his kiss. Then, looking as hot as any Hollywood hunk, he turned and sauntered away.

A heartbeat later, the lights faded, music blared again and Amy Calhoun caught ahold of Grace’s hand. As Amy dragged her to a relatively quiet corner, out of general view, her red ringlets looked set to combust with excitement.

“Who was that?” she cried.

Still lightheaded, Grace leaned back against the wall. “You don’t want to know.”

“I saw you two dancing. Did you only meet tonight? I mean, you don’t have to say a word. I’m just curious, like friends are.” Amy squeezed Grace’s hand. “It’s so good to see you happy.”

“I look happy?” She felt spacey. Agitated.

In need of a cold shower.

“If you want to know, you look swept off your feet.” The plump lips covering Amy’s overbite twitched. “I actually thought that’s what he’d do. Lift you up into his arms and carry you away.”

Amy was an only child. She and Grace had grown up tight, spending practically every weekend at each other’s places on Long Island—dressing up as princesses, enjoying the latest Disney films. Amy still lived and espoused a Cinderella mentality; a happily-ever-after would surely come if only a girl believed. An optimistic mindset was never a bad thing. However, with regard to this situation, Amy’s sentimental nature was a bust.

“Wynn and I had met before tonight. It happened.” Grace tossed the flowers aside on a table. “It’s over.”

“Okay.” Amy’s pearl chocker bobbed as she swallowed. “So, when you say it happened, you mean it as in...”

“As in intercourse. One night of amazing, mind-blowing, unforgettable sex.” Grace groaned out a breath. God, it felt good to get that off her chest.

“Wow.” Amy held her brow as if her head might be spinning. “Mind-blowing, huh? That’s great. Fantastic. I’m just a little—”

“Shocked?”

“In a good way,” Amy gave her a sympathetic look. “We’ve all been so worried.”

As that familiar sick feeling welled up inside her, Grace flinched. “No one needs to be.”

“I’m sure everyone knows that now. Sam was a great guy...a decorated firefighter from an awesome family. We all loved him. And he loved you—so much. But you needed something to push you to move on.”

Those last words pulled Grace up.

But Wynn’s invitation to this wedding was based on a lapsed friendship with the groom. He wasn’t in the loop, and it was a stretch to think that someone had mentioned a bridesmaid’s tragic personal situation over coffee and wedding cake.

Unless her father had said something.

Except the bouquet sliding from her feet across to his had been pure fluke. If not for that, he would never have had the opportunity to... How had he put it? Say goodbye properly. No way had he kissed her to simply show them all that she wasn’t as fragile and alone as they might think.

And Wynn certainly wouldn’t have swooped in to play superhero if he’d had any inkling of what had transpired the night of that accident a year ago. But the truth had to come out sometime. She only needed to find the right time.

Puzzle it out the right way.

* * *

Three days later, as his workday drew to a close, Wynn answered a conference call from his brothers on Skype.

“Bad time?”

Wynn smiled at Dex’s laid-back expression and smooth voice. He was the epitome of a Hollywood producer ever since he’d taken over the family’s movie unit in L.A.

“I have an easy four o’clock then I’m out of here,” Wynn said.

“Off early, mate.”

Skyping in from Sydney, Cole looked particularly tan after his sojourn with his fiancée Taryn Quinn on their yacht in the Pacific.

“Good to hear, bro,” Dex said. “We all need time to chill.”

“How’s Dad?” Standing behind his chair, Wynn slipped one arm then the other into his jacket sleeves. That interview with Christopher Riggs—a job interview, and likely placement, based on a recommendation from Wynn’s father—shouldn’t take long. He’d get ready now to zip out the door as soon as he was done.

“No more attempts on his life since we spoke last,” Cole replied, “and thank God for that.”

“He’s wondering if Tate should come home,” Dex said.

“But Brandon thinks it’s best to keep him out of harm’s way,” Cole explained, “at least until he can chase up some leads on that van.”

Months back, during the stalker’s last attack, Tate had almost been abducted along with his dad. Until the situation was sorted out and guilty parties thrown behind bars, the family had decided to place the youngest Hunter in a safer environment. Tate had spent time with the sweetheart/renegade of the family, Teagan, who lived in Seattle. And right now he was bunking down in Los Angeles with Dex. Tate had been happy with his movie-boss brother, and Dex had been happy with the boy’s babysitter, Shelby Scott—in fact, she had recently become Dex’s fiancée.

But now that there were leads on the van that had been involved in that last assault, they might have a break in the case. Tate might soon be able to go home. Excellent.

“Brandon pinned down some snaps taken by a speed camera,” Cole went on, “the same day Dad was attacked.”

“Don’t tell me after all this time he discovered the license plates were legit?” That they’d tracked down the assailant as easily as through a registration number.

Dex groaned. “Unfortunately, this creep isn’t that stupid.”

“But the traffic shots show the driver pulled over with a flat,” Cole added.

“You have a description?” Wynn asked.

“Dark glasses, fake beard,” Cole said. “Other than general height and weight, no help. But Brandon did a thorough survey of the area. A woman walking her Pomeranian remembers the van and the man. She also recalls him dropping his keys.”

Dex took over. “She scooped them up. Before handing them back, she took note of the rental tag.”

Leaning toward the screen, Wynn set both palms flat on the desk. “Weren’t all the rental companies checked out?”

“The company concerned is a fly-by-nighter from another state,” Dex explained.

“Brandon found the guy who ran it,” Cole added. “Other than simply hiring out the car, he doesn’t appear to be involved. But getting corresponding records was like pulling teeth.”

“Until Brandon threatened to bring in the authorities, criminal as well as tax,” Dex said. “The guy’s got until tomorrow to cough up.”

“Great work. So, Tate’s staying with you in the meantime, Dex?”

“He and Shelby are as thick as thieves. He loves her cooking. I do, too. You should taste her cupcakes.” Sitting back, ex-playboy Dex rested his hands on his stomach and licked his chops. “We’re looking at taking the plunge sometime in the New Year. The wedding will most likely be in Mountain Ridge, Oklahoma, her hometown.”

“Oh, I can see you now, riding up to the minister on matching steeds like something out of a ’40s Western.”

Wynn grinned at Cole’s ribbing.

“Laugh if you dare,” Dex said. “I bought a property that used to belong to Shelby’s dad.” Dex’s tawny-colored gaze grew reflective. “One day we might settle out there for good.”

“Away from the hype and glitter of Hollywood?” Wynn found that hard to believe.

“If it means being with Shelby,” Dex assured them both, “I’d live in a tar shack.”

Wynn was pleased for both brothers’ happiness, even if he no longer possessed a romantic thought or inclination in his body.

Barring the other night.

He felt for Grace and her situation. Covert glances and well-intentioned pity over past relationships that hadn’t ended well... Painful to endure. Far better to give people something to really talk about. And so, with the entire room’s eyes upon them, he’d kissed her—no half measures. After the shock had cleared, however, she’d looked ready to slap his face rather than thank him. It was a shame, because after another taste of Grace Munroe’s lips, he’d only wanted more.

Remembering that interview with Riggs, Wynn checked the time. “Guys, I need to sign off. Dad rang a couple of weeks back about giving a guy a job. Background in publishing. Apparently great credentials and, quote, ‘a finger on the pulse of solutions for challenges in this digital age.’ Dad thought I could use him.”

“Sounds great,” Dex said. “Should help take some pressure off.”

Wynn frowned. “I’m not under pressure.” Or wouldn’t be half so much when the merger deal he’d been working on was in the bag. For now, however, that arrangement was tightly under wraps—he hadn’t even told his father about the merger plans.

“Well, it’ll be strictly fun and games when you guys come out for the wedding.” Pride shone from Cole’s face. “You and Dex are my best men.”

Wynn straightened. That was the first he’d heard of it. “I’m honored.” Then his thoughts doubled back. “Can a groom have two best men?”

“It’s the 21st century.” Dex laughed. “You can do any damn thing you want.”

“So, Wynn,” Cole went on, “you’re definitely coming?”

Dex’s voice lowered. “You’re okay after that breakup now, right?”

Wynn wanted to roll his eyes. He’d really hoped he’d get through this conversation without anyone bringing that up.

“The breakup...” He forced a grin. “Sounds like the title of some soppy book.”

“Movie, actually,” Dex countered.

“Well, you’ll all be relieved to know that I’ve moved on.”

“Mentally or physically?” Dex asked.

“Both.”

“Really?” Cole said at the same time Dex asked, “Anyone we know?”

“As a matter of fact...remember Grace Munroe?”

Cole blinked twice. “You don’t mean Brock Munroe’s girl?”

“Whoa. I remember,” Dex said. “The little horror who crushed on you that Christmas in Colorado when we were all kids.”

“That’s back to front.” Wynn set them straight. “I wanted to crush her—under my heel.”

“And now?” Dex asked.

“We caught up.”

“So, we can put her name down beside yours for the wedding?” Cole prodded.

“I said I’ve moved on.” Lifting his chin, Wynn adjusted his tie’s Windsor knot. “No one’s moving in.”

In the past, these two had nudged each other, grinning over Wynn’s plans to settle down sooner rather than later. Now Cole and Dex were the ones jabbed by Cupid’s arrow and falling over themselves to commit while Wynn had welcomed the role of dedicated bachelor. Once bit and twice shy. He didn’t need the aggravation.

The men signed off. Wynn could see his personal assistant Daphne Cranks down the hall trying to get his attention. She pushed her large-framed glasses up her nose before flicking her gaze toward a guest. A man dressed in an impeccable dark gray suit got up from his chair with an easy smile. Christopher Riggs was almost as tall as Wynn. He had a barrel chest like a buff character from a comic strip. When Wynn joined him, they shook hands, introduced themselves and headed for the boardroom.

“My father seems impressed by your credentials,” Wynn said, pulling in his chair.

“He’s a fascinating man.”

“He worked hard to build Hunter Enterprises into the force it is today.”

“I believe it was very much a local Australian concern when Guthrie took over from your grandfather.”

“My father ran the company with my uncle for a short while. Two strong wills. Different ideas of how the place ought to run. I’m afraid it didn’t work out.” Wynn unbuttoned his jacket and sat back. “That was decades ago.”

“Hopefully I’ll have the chance to contribute something positive moving forward.”

They discussed where the company was positioned at the moment, and went on to speak about publishing in general. Christopher handed over his résumé and then volunteered information about his background. Guthrie had already mentioned that, until recently, Christopher’s family had owned a notable magazine in Australia. Like so many businesses, the magazine had suffered in these harsh economic times. The Riggses had found a business partner who had buoyed the cash flow for a time before pulling the plug. The magazine had gone into receivership.

Christopher had a degree, a background in reporting and good references in marketing. Alongside that, he could talk rings around Wynn with regard to web presence statistics and methods, as well as social media strategies aimed at optimizing potential market share.

While they spoke, Wynn tried to look beyond the smooth exterior, deep into the man’s clear mint-green eyes. No bad vibes. Christopher Riggs was the epitome of a composed professional. Even in his later years, Guthrie Hunter possessed an uncanny ability to sniff out true talent. Wynn could see Christopher well-placed in his marketing and tech team.

They discussed and then agreed on remuneration and benefits.

“Come in tomorrow.” Wynn pushed to his feet. “Daphne can set you up in an office.”

The men shook again and, with a bounce in his step, Christopher Riggs headed out.

After collecting his briefcase, Wynn came back into his private reception area. When he said good-night, Daphne held him up.

“These tickets arrived a few minutes ago.” She gave him an embossed envelope. “A gift from the producer.”

He was about to say that he wasn’t interested in Broadway tonight—she was welcome to the tickets—but then he reconsidered.

Daphne was the most efficient personal assistant he’d ever had. Always on top of things, constantly on his heels...a bit of a puppy, he’d sometimes thought. Behind the Mr. Magoo glasses and dull hairdo, she was probably attractive; however, from what he could gather, she was very much single. He wasn’t certain she even had friends. If he left those tickets behind, chances were they’d be dropped in the trash when five o’clock rolled around.

So he took the envelope as his thoughts swung to another woman who was his assistant’s opposite in every sense of the word—except for the being single part.

Brock had mentioned Grace was in town for a few days. Her hotel was around the corner. As he entered the elevator, Wynn thought it over. Perhaps Grace had left New York by now. And hadn’t she made herself clear? She didn’t regret that night spent in his bed but she wasn’t after an encore. Grace didn’t want to see him again.

As he slid the envelope into his inside breast pocket and the elevator doors closed, Wynn hesitated, and then, remembering their last kiss, slowly grinned.

What the hell. He had nothing on tonight. Maybe he could change her mind.

Three

Exiting the hotel elevator, Grace headed across the foyer and then pulled up with a start. Cutting a dynamite figure in a dark, tailored suit, Wynn Hunter stood at the reception counter, waiting to speak with someone behind the desk.

No need to assume he’d come to see her. There were a thousand other reasons he might be here tonight. Business. Friends. Another woman. An attractive, successful, single male like Wynn... Members of the opposite sex would flock to spend time with him.

She’d been on her way out to mull over a decision—whether or not to spend more time in New York before getting back to her job. Late last year she’d left New York to join a private practice in Florida as a speech-language pathologist. Providing tools to help both adults and children with communication disabilities was rewarding work. Just the other week, she’d got an update from a young mom who had needed additional support and advice on feeding her baby who’d been born with a cleft palate. The woman had wanted to let Grace know that the baby’s first surgery, which included ear tubes to help with fluid buildup, had been a great success.

Grace had made good friends in Florida, too. Had a nice apartment in a great neighborhood. But she missed so much about New York—minus the memories surrounding Sam and his accident, of course, which seemed to pop up everywhere, constantly.

Except during that time she’d spent with Wynn.

Her lips still hummed and her body sang whenever she thought of the way they had kissed. She wasn’t certain that, if she strolled over and started up a conversation with him now, one thing wouldn’t lead to another. However, while the sex would be better than great, she’d already decided that their one-night stand should be left in the past. She wasn’t ready to invite a man, and associated complications, into her life.

Best just to keep going without saying hi.

He seemed to wait until she was out in the open before rapping his knuckles on the counter and then absently turning around. In that instant, she felt his focus narrow and lock her in its sights. No choice now. She pulled up again.

He crossed over to her at a leisurely pace. People in his path naturally made way for him. In the three days since they’d spoken last, his raven’s-wing hair had grown enough to lick his collar. The shadow on his jaw looked rougher, too. And his eyes seemed even darker—their message more tempting.

She remembered his raspy cheek grazing her flesh...the magic of his mouth on her thigh...his muscular frame bearing down again and again to meet her hips. And then he was standing in front of her and speaking in that deep, dreamy voice.

“You’re on your way out?”

Willing her thumping heartbeat to slow, Grace nodded. “And you? Here on business?”

“Your father mentioned you were staying here for a few days.” He waved an envelope. “I have tickets for a show. We could catch a bite first.”

He was here to see her?

“Wynn, I’d really like to, but—”

“You have another date?”

She shook her head.

“You’ve already eaten?”

No, but suddenly she could taste the rich fudge ice-cream they’d devoured, eating off the same spoon that night when they had both needed to cool down.

Grace pushed the image aside. “I’m sorry. This doesn’t work for me.”

“Because it’s not a good time.”

For a relationship of any kind. She nodded. “That’s right.”

He seemed to weigh that up before asking, “When are you leaving New York?”

“I’m not sure. Soon.”

“So, worst case scenario—we have a dog-awful time tonight and you won’t need to bump into me again for another twenty years.”

It sounded so harmless. And maybe it was.

Brock Munroe was a devoted father to all three of his daughters. He’d always been there, watching out for their best interests—doing what he could to help. Did that include organizing some male company to help divert her from unpleasant memories while she was back in town?

And if her father had gone so far as to suggest this get-together, what else had Wynn and her dad discussed? Had Sam been mentioned at all? To what extent? If Wynn had spoken with her mother, the subject of her past boyfriend would definitely have come up. Suzanne Munroe had thought of Sam as a son—always would—and she took every opportunity to let others know it.

There’ll never be another Sam.

“Wynn, did my father put you up to this?” she asked.

Wynn’s chin kicked up a notch. “Brock did mention it might be nice for us to catch up again while you were in town.”

Grace sighed.

“I like to think of my father’s smile if he found out his plan here had worked, but—”

“Grace, I’m not here because your father suggested it.”

“It’s okay. Honest. I—”

He laughed. “Come on now. I’m here because I want to be.” When she hesitated, he went on. “We don’t have to go to the show. But you have to eat. I know a great place on Forty-second.”

She paused. “What place?”

He named a restaurant that she knew and loved.

“Great food,” he added.

She agreed. “I remember.”

“Their chocolate panna cotta is sensational.”

“The mushroom risotto, too.”

Wincing, he held his stomach. “Personally, I’m starved. I skipped lunch.”

“I grabbed an apple-pie melt off a truck.”

“I love apple-pie melts.”

When he sent her a slanted smile, her heart gave a kick and, next thing she knew, she was nodding.

“All right,” she said.

“So, that’s a yes? To dinner, or dinner and the show? It’s an opening night musical. The scores are supposed to be amazing.”

Then he mentioned the name of the lead actor. Who said no to that? Only she wasn’t exactly dressed for the theater.

“I need to go up and change first,” she said.

But then, his gaze sharpened—almost gleamed—and Grace took stock again. Was he debating whether or not to suggest a drink in her room before heading out? Given the conflagration the last time they’d been alone together, no matter how great the songs or the food, she guessed he wouldn’t complain if they ordered room service and bunked down in her bedroom for the night.

She was reconsidering the whole deal when his expression cleared and he waved the envelope toward a lounge adjoining the lobby.

“I’ll wait over there,” he said. “Take your time.”

As he headed off, Grace blinked and then eased into a smile. No inviting himself up or flirty innuendoes. Perfect. Except...

If Wynn wasn’t here at her father’s behest, or to test the air for some no-strings-attached sex, that made tonight about a mutually attracted couple who wanted to enjoy some time together. In other words, a date.

Her first in a year.

* * *

“Some like it steamy.” As he walked alongside her, Wynn gave her a puzzled look. Grace indicated a billboard across the street. “There,” she explained. “It’s the name of a new movie.”

Wynn grinned. “Sounds like something my brother would dream up.”

She and Wynn were heading back to the hotel. They’d enjoyed their meal and the show had been fantastic.

During dinner, she’d caught up on all the Hunter news. Apparently Cole and Dex had been at loggerheads for years. When their father had decided to split the company among the kids, workaholic Cole had expected more from Dex than he’d thought Mr. Casual could give. Dex had been happy to get away on his own to California to head Hunter Productions, which, after some challenges, was now doing well. Teagan had got out of the family business altogether. She’d followed brother Dex to the States and had forged a successful health and fitness business in Seattle. Grace decided she really ought to get in touch with her old friend again.

As for the show, the staging had been spectacular and singing amazing; more than once, Grace had had to swallow past the lump in her throat. And Wynn’s company had been as intoxicating as ever. Despite her reservations, she was glad he’d convinced her to go out.

“I know Cole’s getting married,” she said as her attention shifted from the billboard to take in Wynn’s classic profile. “But isn’t Dex engaged, too? I’m sure I saw an announcement somewhere.”

“I get to meet both Dex’s and Cole’s love interests in a couple of weeks. Cole’s wedding’s back home in Sydney.”

In Australia? She remembered wondering about his accent that first night; she’d thought possibly English but hadn’t wanted to get into backgrounds. “A Hunter wedding. Set to be the social event of the season, I bet.”

Grunting, he flipped his jacket’s hem back to slot both hands in his pockets. “I wouldn’t count on that.”

The Hunters were wealthy, well connected. When Guthrie had remarried a few years ago, her parents had attended. Grace’s mother had come home gushing over the extravagance of the reception as well as the invitation list—sporting legends, business magnates, some of the biggest names in Hollywood today. But it sounded as if Cole and his bride-to-be might be planning a more private affair.

Grace was about to ask more when a raindrop landed on her nose. She checked out the sky. A second and third raindrop smacked her forehead and her chin. Then the starless sky seemed to split wide apart.

As the deluge hit, Grace yelped. Wynn caught her hand, hauling her out of the downpour and into the cozy alcove of a handy shopfront.

“It’ll pass soon,” he said with an authoritative voice that sounded as if he could command the weather rather than predict it.

With his hair dripping and features cast in soft-edged shadows, he looked so assured. So handsome. Was it possible for a man to be too masculine? Too take-me-now sexy?

As he flicked water from his hands, his focus shifted from the rain onto her. As if he’d read her thoughts, his gaze searched hers before he carefully reached for her cheek. But he only swept away the wet hair that was plastered over her nose, around her chin.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

She thought for a moment then feigned a shiver and nodded.

He maneuvered her to stand with her back to him. He held open his silk-lined, wool-blend jacket and cocooned her against a wall of muscle and heat. Heavenly. Then his strong arms folded across her and tugged her in super close.

Surrendering, Grace let her eyes drift shut. She might not want to get involved, but she was human and, damn, this felt good.

His stubble grazed her temple. “Warm now?”

Grinning, she wiggled back against him. “Not yet.”

When his palms flattened against her belly, slowly ironing up before skimming back down, she bit her lip to contain the sigh. Then his hug tightened at the same time his fingers fanned and gradually spread lower. She let her head rock back and rest against his shoulder.

“Better?” he asked against her ear.

“Not yet,” she lied.

“If we keep it up,” he murmured, “we might need to explain ourselves to the police in that patrol car over there.”

“We’re not exactly causing a scene.”

“Not yet.”

He nuzzled down beneath her scarf and dropped a lingering kiss on the side of her throat as one hand coasted higher, over her ribs, coming to rest beneath the slope of her breast. When his thumb brushed her nipple, back and forth three times, she quivered all over.

She felt his chest expand before he turned her around. In the shadows, she caught a certain glimmer in his eyes. Then his gaze zeroed in on her mouth as his grip tightened on her shoulders.

“Grace, precisely how much do you want to heat up?”

Her heartbeat began to race. No denying—they shared a chemistry, a connection, like two magnets meant to lock whenever they crossed paths. She’d had fun this evening. She knew he had, too. And the way he was looking at her now—as if he could eat her...

On a purely primal level, she wanted the flames turned up to high. But if she weakened and slept with Wynn again tonight, how would she feel about herself in the morning? Perhaps simply satisfied. Or would she wish that she’d remembered her earlier stand?

She liked Wynn. She adored the delicious way he made her feel. Still, it was best to put on the brakes.

Sometimes when she thought about Sam, the years they’d spent together, the night that he had died—it all seemed like a lifetime ago and yet still so “now.” Before she could truly move forward and think about starting something new, she needed to make sense of what had come before.

The loss.

Her guilt.

Lowering her gaze, Grace turned to face the street. The display featured in the shop window next to them caught her eye. They were sheltering from the rain in a bookshop doorway. The perfect in for a change of subject.

“Does Hunter Publishing own bookstores?” she asked.

Wynn combed long fingers back through his hair then shook out the moisture as if trying to shake off his steamier thoughts.

“We handle magazines and newspapers,” he told her, “not novels.”

“Everyone’s supposed to have at least one story in them,” she murmured, thinking aloud.

She certainly had one. Nothing she wanted professionally published, of course. But she knew that committing unresolved feelings to paper could be therapeutic.

“Have you got a flight booked back home?” he asked as the rain continued to fall.

“Actually I was thinking of taking a little more time off.”

Hands in his pockets, Wynn leaned back against the shop door. “How much time?”

“A couple of weeks.” Another experienced therapist had just started with the practice. Grace’s boss had said, although she was relatively new, if she needed a bit more time off, it shouldn’t be a problem.

His eyes narrowed as he gave her a cryptic grin. “You should come to Cole’s wedding with me.”

She blinked twice. “You’re not serious.”

“I am serious.”

“You want me to jump on a plane and travel halfway around the world with you, just like that?” She pulled a face. “That’s crazy.”

“Not crazy. You know all the old crowd. I already told my brothers that we caught up.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Exactly how much had he told them? “What did they say?” she asked.

“They said you had a crush on me when you were six.”

“When you were such a dweeb?”

“I was focused.”

She teased, “Focused, but clumsy.”

She could attest to the fact that he’d outgrown the clumsy phase.

“Cole suggested it earlier today. I brushed it off, but after tonight...” He pushed off from the door and stood up straight. “It’ll be fun.”

The idea of catching up with his family was certainly tempting. After that Christmas, she and Teagan had been pen pals for a long while. Then Tea had that accident and was in and out of hospital with a string of surgeries. Tea’s letters had dwindled to the point where they’d finally lost touch.

But foremost a trip to Australia would mean spending loads of time with Wynn, which didn’t add up to slowing things down or giving herself the time she still needed to work through and accept her past with Sam.

She waved the suggestion off. “You don’t need me.”

“That’s right. I want you.”

Such a simple yet complicated statement—it took her aback.

She tried to make light. “You must have a mile-long list of women to choose from.”

His brows knitted. “You have that wrong. Dex was the playboy. Never me.”

When a group of boisterous women walked by the alcove, he stepped forward to gauge the prewinter night sky.

“Rain’s stopped,” he said. “Let’s go before we get caught again.”

* * *

As they walked side by side past puddles shimmering with light from the neon signs and streetlamps, Wynn thought back.

By age ten, he’d had a handle on the concept of delayed gratification. If he needed the blue ribbon in swim squad, he put in time at the pool. If he wanted to win his father’s approval, he studied until he excelled. Reward for effort was the motto upon which he’d built his life, professional as well as private.

Then Heather had walked away and that particular view on life had changed.

On the night he and Grace had met again, Wynn had seen what he’d wanted and decided simply to take it. A few minutes ago, with her bundled against him in those shadows, the same thousand-volt arc had crackled between them. For however long it lasted, he wanted to enjoy it. More than gut said Grace wanted that, too, even if she seemed conflicted.

Hell, if she had time off, why not come to Australia? He could show her some sights. They could share a few laughs. No one needed to get all heavy and “forever” about it. He wasn’t out to replace her ex. He understood certain scars didn’t heal.

Maybe it would make a difference if he let her know that.

“Should we have a nightcap?” he asked as they entered the relative quiet of her hotel lobby a few minutes later. “I found a nice spot in that lounge earlier. No piano though.”

She continued on, heading for the elevators. “I have to get up early.”

When she didn’t elaborate, Wynn adjusted his plan. He’d say his piece when he said good-night at her door. At the elevators, however, she cut down that idea, too.

“It’s been a great night,” she said, after he’d hit the Up key. “But I think I’ll say good-night here.”

He was forming words to reply when he heard a woman’s laugh—throaty, familiar. All the muscles in his stomach clenched tight a second before he tracked down the source. Engaged in conversation with a jet-set rock’n’roll type, Heather Matthews was strolling across a nearby stretch of marble tiles.

Wynn’s heart dropped.

Over eight million people and New York could still be a freaking small world.

At the same time his ex glanced in his direction, the elevator pinged and the doors slid open. He shepherded Grace inside and stabbed a button. As the doors closed, the ice in his blood began to thaw and the space between collar and neck started to steam. It took a moment before he realized Grace was studying him.

“Inviting yourself up?” she drawled.

“I’ll say good-night at the door.”

“Because of that woman you want to avoid?” She hit a floor key. “Want to tell me who she is?”

His jaw clenched. “Not particularly.”

She didn’t probe, which he appreciated. Except, maybe it would help if Grace knew that he’d recently lost someone, too, though in a different way.

He tugged at his tie, loosening the knot that was pressing on his throat. “That woman and I...we were together for a few years. There was a time I thought we’d get married,” he added. “Have a family. She didn’t see it that way.”

Her eyes rounded then filled with sympathy. The kind of pity Wynn abhorred and, he thought, Grace knew well.

“Wynn...I’m sorry.”

“It’s in the past.” Drawing himself up to his full height, he shrugged. “I’m happy for Cole. For Dex, too. But I’m steering clear of that kind of—” heartache? “—commitment.”

A bell pinged and the elevator doors opened. She stepped out, and then, with a look, let him know he could follow. She stopped outside a door midway down the corridor, flipped her key card over the sensor. When the light blinked on, she clicked open the door and, after an uncertain moment, faced him again. They were both damp from the rain. Drops still glistened in her hair.

“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I think your ex missed out.”

Then she stepped forward and craned up on her toes. When her lips brushed his cheek, time seemed to wind down. She lingered there. If she was going to step away, she wasn’t in too much of a hurry. She had to get up early. Had wanted to say good-night. But if he wasn’t mistaken, this was his cue.

His hands cupped her shoulders. As her face angled up, his head dropped down. When his mouth claimed hers, he held off a beat before winding one arm around her back. He felt more than heard the whimper in her throat. A heartbeat later, she relaxed and then melted.

As his tongue pushed past her lips, a thick molten stream coursed through his veins. The delicious surge...that visceral tug... And then her arms coiled around his neck and the connection started to sizzle.

He hadn’t planned on taking Grace to bed tonight. He knew she hadn’t planned this, either. But what could he say? Plans changed.

A muttering at his back seeped through the fog.

“For pity’s sake, get a room.”

Grace stiffened, and then pried herself away. Down the hall, a middle-aged couple were shaking their heads as they disappeared into a neighboring suite. Coming close again, Wynn slid a hand down her side.

Get a room.

“Maybe that’s not such a bad idea,” he murmured against her brow.

When she didn’t respond, he drew back. A pulse was popping in her throat, but reason had returned to her eyes.

“Good night, Wynn.”

“What about Sydney?”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Soon.” He handed over a business card with his numbers.

Before her soft smile disappeared behind the crack in the door, she agreed. “Yes, Wynn. Soon.”

Four

The next morning, Wynn arrived at the office early.

By seven, he was downstairs, speaking with his editor-in-chief about a plagiarism claim that was causing the legal department major grief. An hour and a half later, he was heading back upstairs and thinking about Grace. They had parted amicably, to say the least. He thought there was a chance she might even take him up on the invitation to accompany him to Cole’s wedding.

He’d give her a day, and then try her at the hotel. Or he could get her cell number from Brock. Even if she decided not to go to Sydney, he wanted to take her out again. By the time he got back to the States, she would have left New York and gone back to her life in Florida.

Wynn made his way past Daphne’s vacant desk; his assistant was running a little late. A moment later, when he swung open his office door, he was called back—but not by Daphne. Christopher Riggs was striding up behind him, looking as enthusiastic as he had the previous day at his interview.

“Hey, Wynn.” Christopher ran a hand through his hair, pushing a dark wave off his brow. “Daphne wasn’t at her desk. I thought I’d take a chance and see if you were in.”

Wynn flicked a glance at his watch. His next meeting—an important one—wasn’t far off. But he could spare a few minutes.

As they moved inside his office, Christopher’s expression sharpened when something on Wynn’s desk caught his eye—the interconnecting silver L and T of a publishing logo. “La Trobes,” he said.

Leaning back against the edge of the desk, Wynn crossed his arms. “Impress me with your knowledge.”

“I know La Trobes’s publications have a respectable share of the marketplace.”

“Keeping in mind that print share is shrinking.”

“But there are other, even greater opportunities outside of print, if they’re harnessed properly. I’ve given a lot of thought to out-of-the-box strategies and the implementation of facilities for digital readers to be compatible with innovative applications.”

For the next few minutes, Wynn listened to an extended analysis of the digital marketplace. Obviously this guy knew his stuff. But now wasn’t the time to get into a full-blown discussion.

After a few more minutes of Christopher sharing his ideas, Wynn got up from the desk and interrupted. “I have a meeting. We’ll talk later.”

A muscle in Christopher’s jaw jumped twice. He was pumped, ready to let loose with a thousand initiatives. But he quickly reined himself in.

“Of course,” he said, backing up. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

Christopher was headed out when Daphne appeared at the open door.

“Oh, sorry to interrupt,” Daphne said. “I didn’t realize—”

As she backed up, her elbow smacked the jamb. When her trusty gold-plated pen jumped from her hand, Christopher swooped to rescue it. As he returned the pen, Wynn didn’t miss the wink he sent its owner. He also noted Daphne’s blush and her preoccupation as Christopher vacated the room.

Rousing herself, she nudged those glasses back up her nose and, in the navy blue dress reserved for Thursdays, moved forward. As Wynn dragged in his seat, Daphne lowered into her regular chair on the other side of his desk. So—head back in the game. First up, before that meeting, he needed to make some arrangements.

“I’m flying to Sydney Monday.”

Daphne crossed her legs and scribbled on her pad. “Returning when?”

“Keep it open.”

“I’ll organize a car to the airport.” She scrunched her pert nose. “Will you need accommodation?”

“We’re all staying at the family home. Guthrie wants us all in one place leading up to the big day.”

If Grace decided to join him, he’d make additional arrangements. Lots of them.

As Daphne took notes, her owlish, violet-blue eyes sparkled behind their lenses. He couldn’t be sure, but he suspected his assistant was a romantic. She liked the thought of a wedding. Not so long ago, she had really liked Heather.

The two women had met several times. Daphne had commented on how carefree, beautiful and friendly his partner was. The morning after Heather had left him sitting alone in that restaurant, he’d returned to his apartment and had lain like a fallen redwood on his couch. He’d let his phone ring and ring. He didn’t eat. Didn’t drink. When an urgent knocking had forced him to his feet, he’d found Daphne standing, fretting in his doorway. Looking pale, she’d announced, “I’ve been calling all day.” For the first time in their history, her tone had been heated. Concerned.

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